


You've Got to Be Kidding

by MorinoAthame



Series: What's Age Got to Do With It? [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Family, Gen, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorinoAthame/pseuds/MorinoAthame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while since his heat. Bobby's more or less put it out of his mind. When Sam and Dean show up covered in monster goop and bits, Bobby's sent running for the nearest receptacle to empty what little is in his stomach, drawing not only his own attention that something might be wrong, but Sam's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got to Be Kidding

**Author's Note:**

> After writing 'Too Old,' I was struck with ideas for what might happen in the aftermath of Bobby's heat. So, I decided to play around with them and turn it all into a series.

He heard the Impala pull up behind the house as he busied himself making breakfast. It was awfully early for the boys to be arriving, so he could only assume they’d driven through the night. Pouring egg into his pan, he let it cook for a moment before adding in the inside of his omelet. He could hear car doors and the trunk lid of the car, so he knew the boys would be in any moment. Knowing then, especially Dean, they’d also take one look at his food and give their best impressions of puppies. So, he started cracking eggs, cutting up ham and onions, and frying up more bacon to crumble.

Just as he was turning to plate the first omelet and grab the bread to make toast, the boys pushed into the room and dropped their bags. They were filthy, covered in who knew what.  He was surprised that Dean got in the car like that.

“Is that breakfast? Bobby, you shouldn’t have!” Dean grinned at him, looking exhausted.

Bobby shot him a glare briefly then rolled his eyes. “Go wash up. You’re not sitting at my table…” He trailed off as he got a good whiff of Dean, who’d come over to steal a piece of bacon. Only because of his hunting reflexes, which probably weren’t what they use to be, was he able to lunge over the table and grab the waste bin fast enough.

“Eww, gross,” Dean commented as the older man lost what was left in his stomach from the previous day.

“Dean…” Sam huffed softly and walked over toward Bobby, to see if he could help no doubt, only to set the older man retching again. “I think it’s us,” he told his brother. “We better go wash up.”

“But…” Dean waved the piece of bacon in his fingers.

“Go, goddamn you!” Bobby croaked from over the trash can before hazarding to straighten up.

Looking confused, Dean popped the bacon in his mouth and headed after his brother.

Bobby washed his mouth out and wiped his face at the sink before turning back to the stove. He plated the somewhat burnt bacon, Dean would eat it anyhow, hell, they all would, and added some more to the pan. He moved the pan he was using for the omelets, letting it cool some before getting back to making each of them an omelet.

Twenty minutes later they were all at the table, having a nice breakfast. It had been pleasantly silent for five minutes, but Bobby knew that would never last. “So,” Dean drawled, as if on cue, “what was with the hurling, Bobby? I’ve seen you covered in things that smell a hell of a lot worse.”

“How should I know?” He asked him. It wasn’t like it was a normal reaction, as he’d pointed out.

Sam looked thoughtful. “You haven’t been sick, have you, or around anyone sick?”

Bobby rolled his eyes and bit into his toast. Dean answered for him. “I think that falls under knowing, Sammy.”

“I’m just asking.” Sam gave his brother what had become known as ‘bitch face.’

“Look,” Bobby said, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Let’s just eat breakfast and you boys can tell me about your hunt.”

 

* * *

 

Five days later, it was clear that it was not ‘nothing.’ The day after the boys showed up, he’d been out in the scrap yard working on a car. Needing a piece, he’d gone off into the yard to find one, when he came across something that had been dead for a couple days and out in the sun. He’d had to move away quickly and ended up losing his breakfast behind a beat up, rust bucket of an old Mercury.

Then, two days after that, he’d been helping Sam make up hex bags. He’d pulled out a box of various things he used in this and that spell, only to have to shove it in Sam’s hands and grab at the paper bin under his desk. Sam hadn’t said a word, likely because Bobby had glared him into submission for the time being, but the old hunter knew that he’d drawn the boy’s attention.

Playing it off that something in there must have gone bad, which he doubted but couldn’t actually get close to the box to find out, Bobby left Sam to pull out the perfectly scent free items they needed for the bags. He decided lunch was in order.

Luck would have it, that some bologna in the fridge had turned, and he pulled it out without noticing the slime on it until he’d opened the package. With the sight came the smell and again he was bent over a trash can, hurling bile when nothing else would come out of his stomach.

The sound must have traveled to Sam, because he heard the heavy footsteps a moment before there was a large hand on his shoulder. “Bobby, you’re not alright.”

“It’s just a bug,” he barked, shrugging Sam off and going back to finding something for lunch. “Finish the bags.”

“Bobby…” Sam was giving him ‘mothering face,’ which was nearly as bad as ‘bitch face.’

“Please, Sam. I’m alright.” He gave him a reassuring, if small, smile. It wasn’t enough, he knew that, but Sam backed down for the moment and went into the other room.

It’d been three days since then, and he’d not thrown up once or even felt queasy. It seemed he’d been right; it was just a stomach bug, until Dean started cooking something in the kitchen. Bobby wasn’t sure what the boy was up to in there, and honestly if they didn’t find a hunt soon he might kill one or both of them, but the smell that wafted into the library sent him reeling. He grabbed the waste bin and retched into it.

Bobby wasn’t surprised when he heard Sam coming, and he knew this time he’d probably not get him to back off something being wrong.  “Open a window,” he told the boy as he sat up and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his mouth. He then held it over his nose, to prevent Dean’s concoction from sending him back over the bin.

“Bobby, you can’t keep doing this and telling me nothing’s wrong,” Sam said, moving to stand in front of him. “I want to take you to the clinic, see what’s going on.”

He blinked at him. “You can’t be…”

“I’m dead serious.” He moved around the desk. “Do you want to do it the easy way or the hard way?” Bobby knew that tone. He’d heard him use it often enough with Dean, and John before him.  Glaring at the younger man, he stood up and headed for the door. He’d go, but he was damned if he was going to be happy about it, and if Sam rued the day he suggested they do this, all the better.

 

* *  *

 

The news from the doctors, after they’d had to wait for three damn hours in hard plastic chairs before sitting in the exam room for nearly one before sitting through a ten minute exam and giving a blood sample that he swore they were trying to take from his _bones_ the way the damn nurse was digging around in there with the needle, was more than a little shocking. He’d been unable to give a response other than to stare and blink every little bit.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder, looking shocked but also determined as the doctor rattled off this information and that in regards to Bobby’s advanced age and higher risks of complications and fatality. He zoned out completely after that, letting the younger man do the talking and take the information that the doctor had for him. It wasn’t until Sam stood that he realized they were finished and both Sam and the doctor were looking at him.

Bobby blinked at them, his eyes dry from staring blankly ahead for some time.

“You okay, Bobby?” Sam asked gently, and at first he was a little pissed that Sam was already treating him like a piece of glass, until he remembered this was _Sam_ and it was just how he was with people.

“Peachy,” he replied wryly before standing. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He pushed passed the doctor, needing air and space. He could hear Sam behind him giving apologies and calling that he’d catch up once he checked Bobby out, but the older hunter didn’t care. He pushed his way outside and strode quickly to the Impala before bracing himself against it and letting everything sink in.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, practically hyperventilating, before he felt Sam’s large hand rubbing at his back. The younger man didn’t say a word, and Bobby was grateful for that. There was a lot to think about, and he didn’t need to have to answer questions, and face the disappointed looks, the judging quiet once the boys both figured out just how all this happened.

Pulling away from Sam, he got in the car. Sam immediately took the hint and moved to the other side, driving them back to the scrap yard. “Bobby… Do you want me to not tell Dean?” He asked as he parked the car.

Bobby sighed. “He’ll figure it out, eventually. Can’t really hide it, and I don’t expect you to keep him away until… until the end.” He pulled of his hat and wrung it in his hands. He felt tired, so tired, and he felt alone, even though he knew he had the boys. This wasn’t something they’d be much help with; he couldn’t ask that of them. It wasn’t their responsibility. No, he’d have to do this alone. It all left him feeling, and how he hated the feeling, scared.

“Alright. I’ll explain it to him, but he… we will have questions. Like how this even happened.” He looked over at him.

The old hunter shoved his hat back on his head and opened the car door. “How the hell do you think it happened?” He snapped, getting out and stalking into the house. It wasn’t fair, to take it out on Sam, but dammit, he was pushing sixty. He was too fucking old for this.

Going to his room to shower and change, for some reason his clothes were feeling rather scratchy, Bobby barely heard the rather loud ‘HE’S WHAT’ from the vicinity of the kitchen, as well as the rather loud and fast foot falls on the steps. Judging by number, Dean had skipped every other one, and he didn’t seem to care Bobby was _naked_ and getting in the shower. “What the hell, Bobby?” He demanded.

“Naked here, Dean. Go wait downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.” He sighed.

“You obviously don’t mind being naked in front of other men. You apparently _like_ it.” Dean gave him a scowl. Bobby had to remind himself that Dean didn’t mean anything by it. The boy was worried and confused, and lashing out was how Dean dealt with things.

“Dean!” Sam’s sharp voice came from down the stairs.

“Fine. But this better be good.” Dean gave Bobby another look before leaving him to his shower.

Bobby wasn’t sure what was supposed to be good. It was rather apparent what was going on. He washed up and dressed, frowning at his clothes. He was going to have to get new fabric softener, even though he’d been using the same cheap stuff for years. Resigned to itchy clothes, he made his way downstairs. His boys waited for him, with the addition of Castiel, who looked at him and tilted his head in that ‘I’m a cute and curious bird’ way he had.

“You are with child,” the angel pointed out, as if the rest of them didn’t know that.

“Ya think?” He asked, irritably.

“How?” Dean wanted to know. He’d calmed down, probably due to the fact that Castiel was present more than anything Sam could have said.

“How do you think, boy?” He asked, but there wasn’t any bite to his words as he sat down at his desk. “When I was put back together, after the apocalypse was averted… I’m an omega, if you have to know.” He glared at them, daring them to say anything.

Dean blinked, clearly gob smacked. “You?” He breathed out softly, sounding awed.

“What Dean means is, you never said, and you were married so we just assumed…”

“We figured you for a beta, though you act a hell of a lot like an alpha, more than some alphas we’ve known.” Dean looked at him then smirked. “Like Sammy here.”

Sam gave him a rather unimpressed look.  “The more important issue is your age.” He looked from his brother to Bobby. “I’m not sure how much of what the doctor said you heard.”

“I didn’t.” He admitted. This didn’t seem to surprise Sam, who stood and walked over to the desk, laying down the papers the doctor had given him. “There are a lot of things you need to watch out for like gestational diabetes. The one I’m worried about is an increased risk of hypertension.” He gave him a small smile but there was no real humor in it.

Bobby snorted. “You think you idjits don’t already have me hypertensed?” He shook his head and gave a small smile of his own, attempting to lighten the mood. “So I have to watch my diet, more than I already do because I’m old, and try to stay calm. Oh this will be a cakewalk.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Bobby, the hypertension can lead to pre-eclampsia, which can lead to eclampsia. This is serious.” Sam gave him a look that said he was more than worried. Bobby had the impression that he was going to have a house guest, likely two, for the foreseeable future. That also meant he’d have an angel dropping in regularly, if not camped out with them most of the time. He couldn’t help but think how much Karen would have loved the house full, and even more having a baby in the house.

“So, what, you want him to get rid of the baby?” Dean asked, watching his brother closely.

Sam sighed. “It’s a reasonable option. There’s a high likelihood the baby won’t make it to term or survive the birth if it does. It’s not uncommon for advanced age pregnancies to result in premature labor, some even extremely premature. There’s also risk to Bobby. There’s a higher rate of placenta praevia in advanced age pregnancies.”

“Boy, if you say advanced age one more time,” Bobby warned him.

“I’m just trying to give you the facts, Bobby.” Sam looked at him, expression almost one of pity. “The chances of stillbirth are double that of someone younger. And then there’s the things pregnancy will do to your body. Hunting’s not been easy on you, neither has your drinking.”

Bobby sighed. He’d not thought about drinking. He wouldn’t be able to for a while. Who knew what he’d done to the kid already, not knowing it was in there. “That’s no reason to give up.”

Sam looked at him. “I don’t like it any more than you do, I just don’t want to lose _you_ , Bobby.”

“Hey, we got Cas.” Dean looked to the angel. “You can help, right?” He turned a puppy-eyed expression on the angel.

“I can monitor the situation. I should at least be able to be here should Bobby be in need of healing, but I cannot guarantee success of birth.” His eyes held apology as he looked from Dean to Sam then Bobby.

“That’s more than we’d have without you, Cas.” Dean smiled at the angel brightly. Bobby rolled his eyes. The boy had it so bad he was blind to it.

“Might I inquire as to who you laid with?” Castiel looked at Bobby, asking with clear curiosity and typical bluntness. At least he didn’t ask things like Dean, who would have said, ‘so, who’d you let fuck you’ or something equally as crass.

Bobby opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say, so he snapped it shut again. “Doesn’t matter.” He wouldn’t look at any of them.

“Bobby?” Sam sounded worried, but he’d been stuck on worried for days, thanks to the hurling; the morning sickness, Bobby corrected himself.

“Tell me it wasn’t the milkman,” Dean quipped, smiling at the older hunter.

Bobby didn’t hear Castiel move closer, to busy giving Dean a look that said he wasn’t amused, but he certainly noticed the tan, coat covered arm that moved into his view, as well as the hand that rested on where he’d be growing a bump eventually. His eyes shot up to the angel, watching him with apprehension.

It had never once occurred to Bobby to not have the baby. Even as Sam was talking about it, he knew he’d never have an abortion. He hadn’t realized how sold he was on being a father, to someone other than Sam and Dean, until he remembered Jesse, and what it was that Castiel had intended to do to him. The boys had told him all about the antichrist, though ‘the’ seemed rather inappropriate as there could obviously be more than one unless the Turner boy had died; and wasn’t it a nice thought to know that he would be giving birth to such a powerful creature. At least Lucifer was back in his box. That meant that there should be a limit to the power of his child.

Castiel pulled his hand away, still looking Bobby in the eye. “The child is growing well and is healthy,” he said. “You will inform the father?” Bobby had no doubts that Castiel _knew_. He could only be thankful that the angel wasn’t pitching a fit.

Sighing, he looked away. “Suppose I should,” he mumbled.

“I wish to be present, or at the very least close at hand.” Castiel moved back, giving Bobby space. It was nice to see he was getting better at personal boundaries, at least physically.

“Okay, what is going on?” Dean demanded, looking between them.

“Well, it’s like this,” Bobby started, knowing it was going to be a very long day and there was no promise of whiskey at the end.

 

* * *

 

The summoning was easy enough to do. Bobby stood in his library, all the things he needed in front of him and a devil’s trap not only on the ceiling but on the floor and one wall. He wasn’t letting the bastard get away before he’d let him know how he felt about all of this. Of course, it didn’t help that he’d spent the morning crying, and he could not for the world figure out what had started it or why it wouldn’t stop, which only frustrated him even more, making him cry all the harder and longer.

Bobby tossed the last of the components in and spoke the words, irritated that he had to go through all of this just to get in touch with the pain in the ass in the first place. It didn’t help he’d not seen him since the heat. The hunter felt a little bit used, even though he was the one that had been needy at the time.

Summoning complete, Bobby waited, and not long, for the king of hell to appear before him. Crowley looked at him then up and down. “My, luv, should I be flattered?” He grinned his normal cocky grin. “To what do I owe the honor? Miss me that much?”

Growling, Bobby grabbed the shotgun full of rock salt on the table beside him.  It wouldn’t hurt Crowley too much. “You got me pregnant, you ass.” He said, right before pulling the trigger.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, Dean... alpha, beta, or omega? I'm not sure what to do with him. I left it open so I could have him go any way I want, and I'm curious to see what everyone else thinks.


End file.
